An Interlude in a Forest
by Canne
Summary: Much and Marian take a walk in the woods.


**Title**: An Interlude in a Forest

**Summary: **Much and Marian take a walk in the woods. Robin/Marian and unrequited Much/Marian.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing even remotely related to BBC's Robin Hood, or the entire Robin Hood Empire. I don't even own a DVD.

**Author's Note:** This is a one-off, because my life is basically ruled by multipart stories already. As anyone who has read my other works knows, I adore Much but I really have no idea how to write him. Hopefully, this meets with your approval.

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"Much, what was it like?" Marian asks one night, as they walk through the quiet forest. Marian had brought food to the outlaws earlier, disguised as the Nightwatchman, and while Robin and Will had been absent, she had remained and enjoyed a pleasant hour or two with the others and had chosen not to complain when Much took it upon himself to escort her back to Knighton.

"What was what like?" Much asks quietly, although the stiffening of his body and the edge to his words tell Marian that he knows exactly what she was interested in.

"The Holy Land. You never talk about it. Even less than Robin, and yet I think…" She trails off.

"What do you think?" Much enquires, watching Marian from the corner of his eye.

"I think that the scars you carry are worse than his. I've seen you by the river," they both blush in the dark, "your back and your legs are covered with scars."

"Yes." Much says simply, because really, what more is there to say to this girl?

"It's funny, that you and Robin fought together and yet he came back with only one scar." Marian says shrewdly.

"Robin is a far better swordsman than I." Much replies.

"But he isn't." Marian retorts quickly, stopping and touching Much's arm so that he would turn to face her. "He isn't a better swordsman than you Much, we both know that. You're just as good as he is, so don't lie to me. I've known you both too long to believe such lies."

Much watches her and wonders for a moment if she really does want the truth. Most people don't, certainly most of women Robin attracts don't. All they want to hear is how wonderful he is, how brilliant and brave. But Marian…Marian knows what Robin is really like and if anyone would truly want to hear the truth, it would be her.

"You're right." He says and resumes walking, hearing her feet crunch on the ground behind him as she follows several seconds later.

"I know." She's sad now; he can hear it in her voice. "Why do it Much?"

He doesn't even need to ask what she means by "it". They both know the truth now. How Much threw himself in front of every arrow, every sword tip, meant for Robin. How he did it without even thinking most times. How Robin never once said thank you, never once came to see him in the sick tent, even when the surgeon said that Much would probably not last the night. He had sent for Robin then, wanting to say goodbye to his friend, but Robin never came. The guilt in his eyes once Much recovered had made it clear that he had indeed received the summons.

"His life is worth more than mine." Much answers plainly.

"It's not!" Marian protests. Much laughs weakly.

"It is, and it is painful and ridiculous and, worst of all, true."

"By all rights, he should be dead by now." Marian says, "And if he weren't such a selfish, such a selfish b-"

"Boy." Much interrupts her before she could say the word he knows was on the tip of her tongue. She chokes out a laugh.

"If he weren't such a selfish little boy, you never would have even been there Much. You wouldn't have scars all over your body, and your mind." She guesses and he cringes, because those scars are the worst. Physical pain heals and fades, but his memories only serve to haunt him each night. He hides it well, he thinks. He cooks and he fuses over the others, especially Robin, and these mundane tasks save him, in little ways. But sometimes, as he sits by the fire, he thinks of the fires after battles, when the scent of burning flesh could not be escaped. And at night, in the cold, he remembers the frigid desert, and the dying groans from the men in the surgeon's tent.

If nothing else, he at least knows that Robin has fewer of these memories than he. Much shielded Robin, both on the battlefield and off, from whatever he could. At least one of them, he thought, needed to come home whole. From what he's seen, he succeeded in that way at least. Robin gets dreams sometimes, but no where near as frequently as Much. Much gets them most nights still and they, not his bottomless appetite, are the reason he is always the first awake in the camp, always happy to start the fires and make breakfast for the others. If he keeps busy, he can almost forget his dreams of the night before. Almost.

"All the same, aren't you glad he came back alive?" Much asks, as they reach the edge of the woods next to Knighton. Marian blushes and stammers for a moment, and Much smiles in the dark.

"I'm glad you both came home." She finally says, diplomatically he thinks. "But one day Much, you're going to have to stop protecting him, stop following him on every ridiculous misadventure he embarks on."

"Someday," Much replies, "I might." Someday, he thinks, when I'm dead.

Marian shakes her head. "He doesn't deserve you." She says finally and now it's Much who is blushing and stammering. Marian turns to head towards her home, but then pivots and returns to Much.

"Thank you." Marian whispers, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek, "Bless you." And then she's gone, lost to the darkness of the Knighton stables. And that, he thinks, is why it was all worth while. Every moment of pain, every lost drop of blood, every terror-filled night, all made worthwhile because he was able to bring Robin back for her, to make her happy.


End file.
